HISTORIC HANGTOWN CRICK
It was many and many a year ago
Along an old stagecoach road,
A gold camp flourished in the snow,
In the heart of the mother lode.
Soon the whole place went to heck,
And loath to call a truce,
They stretched a couple careless necks
With a crudely fashioned noose.
So the gold camp grew in infamy.
Notoriety done the trick!
And soon the little ditch was known
As historic Hangtown crick.
The camp was christened Hangtown too,
In memory of the dead,
And far and wide her legend grew
As the lawless place them fellas wound up dead.
Soon folks rushed in from shore to shore
To pan the muddy street,
With Hangtown renowned for evermore
As the place to come to see them swingin’ feet.
The city fathers deemed it wise
To spread the gold camp’s fame.
Soon gold aplenty became the prize,
And emptying tourists pockets became the game.
When delicate womenfolk arrived,
The name Hangtown give ‘em grief.
So a brand new name was soon contrived,
In the hope it might provide the men relief.
Ravine City was considered
But the womenfolk groaned still,
So at last the city fathers
Changed the name to Placerville.
The little metropolis grew and grew
And the townsfolk, being thrifty,
Began providing gasoline
To the motorists they could lure from highway 50.
Flatlanders now are welcome
Despite what you may hear.
And we very rarely hang one.
With ropes now coiled, we count each tourist dear.
So if you’d like to live on beans
Out west where skies are sunny,
Check out Old Hangtown by all means,
And just to play it safe, bring lots of money.